


Of Oldstones

by fireyice (AgentScrapper142)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Love Triangles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 20:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18667408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentScrapper142/pseuds/fireyice
Summary: Sansa has just been returned to Winterfell after a catalyst event in King's Landing. She's missed the comforts of home, particularly the comforts of others, like Theon Greyjoy. Keen on rooting herself in familiarity, Sansa insists on resisting changes in her familiar home...until she meets Jon Snow, the man who saved her from King's Landing.





	Of Oldstones

**Author's Note:**

> Jenny's song inspired this fic heavily, because it's so hauntingly beautiful and I could think of no one better suited to connect with the song than Sansa! So here we go.

The winter air latched onto Sansa the moment she stepped outside. It seeped deep into her bones despite her thick coat and multiple layers and made her teeth chatter, but she did her best to power through it, sticking close to the throngs of people milling around the outside of the airport. She watched as some hurried into cars, watched others hug each other goodbye, her own journey suddenly seeming inconsequential. 

“Sansa!” 

She spun towards the call of her name, eyes wide and searching, searching, and then there he was. Relief washed over and she even almost smiled as she approached Theon, whose arms were already outstretched in preparation for a hug, which she gave him. 

“So good to see you,” she breathed, the words muffled in Theon’s turtleneck. She pulled away just enough to tug on the wool fabric of Theon’s sweater, raising a brow. “Aren’t you cold?” 

“You’ve been gone too long,” he said with a grin, “basking in a never-ending summer, yeah? Welcome back to Winterfell.” 

It was all innocently said, but the knot in her throat caught her off guard. She cleared her throat and sighed, shaking her head when Theon offered to grab her things for her.

“Are we going straight home?” she asked, following her brother’s friend to where he had parked his car, deep in the maze of the airport’s parking garage. 

“Yeah. Robb wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry he couldn’t welcome you back properly,” Theon answered, helping Sansa put her things away in the trunk of his car. “You know how things are right now.” 

“I know,” was all Sansa could say. It wasn’t the biting cold of her birthplace that was numbing her now. She felt nothing as she climbed into the passenger seat, finding it hard to pay attention to whatever it was Theon was babbling about. Perhaps something to distract her. Perhaps something important. Perhaps something else entirely. Sansa couldn’t bring herself to tune in. She merely stared out her window, the light flurry of snow blurring everything just enough to allow her to blur her mind. 

 

***

The slam of a car door jolted Sansa awake, her heart pounding as she sat up, straight as a rod. A flash of copper hair in the rear-view mirror reminded her of where she was and what was happening, the adrenaline slowly leaving her as she stepped out of the car to help Theon with her luggage. 

“I don’t remember falling asleep. Sorry. I wish I’d been better company,” she said, gazing briefly at Theon from under her lashes. 

He didn’t turn fully toward her, but merely glanced at her from the corner of his eye, that little daring half-grin of his ever present. 

“I’ve never known you to apologize for something so stupid,” he teased, and that was that. All was forgiven and all that needed to be done was to haul Sansa’s things inside. The few things she’d decided to take along with her. 

It was eerily empty inside the Stark home, nothing but the sound of their footsteps and the howling winds outside to greet them. They left her bags by the staircase to be dealt with later. The first thing on Sansa’s mind was to warm herself up and possibly eat. 

“I’ll see if dinner’s ready yet,” Theon said, putting a hand on her shoulder and letting his grin fall and morph into something gentler. “Then we’ll talk.” 

Sansa waited until Theon was out of sight to reach for her phone, swiping through texts and alerts until she landed on Robb’s contact info. When she tried to call, it immediately went to voicemail, a small groan leaving her throat each time she tried to dial his number with the same results. She wanted to try for another call, but something else caught her attention. The only thing that could have drawn her away was the smell of her favorite chowder, warm and inviting and wafting from the dining room. 

Theon popped his head out once she was near enough, showing her the way. “I know it’s not nearly as fancy as what you’re used to now, but I hope you still like the chowder that Old Nan makes. Reheated, unfortunately, because she thought you were coming yesterday.” 

“As long as it’s hot, I don’t care,” she replied, and it was the honest truth. Had she really been so spoiled before that Theon still had these assumptions about her? What had the rumor mills been spreading about her?

It bothered her so much that she reached out for Theon’s arm, squeezing it gently, her eyes gazing into his as she opened her mouth and struggled, for a moment, to find what to say and how to say it. 

“I’m still me...,” is what came out, which frustrated her. It was the truth and it was a lie. She was still Sansa Stark, always would be, but a different Sansa, a stronger one. The spoiled brat Theon had grown up with had died in King’s Landing, had melted in that never-ending heat. At least, that’s what she had told herself. 

Theon gave her a look that she couldn’t quite decipher but Sansa didn’t question it, and he didn’t say anything in response. But he did move closer, his head ducked so that his nose brushed her hairline, then her forehead, the space between her eyebrows. Her heart thudded and there was a stillness in time that she’d never experienced before. What would it be like if it could always be this way? The question clouded her thoughts. She didn’t want to move, never wanted to move away from him, but then the moment was over and they were seated, emotions howling between them the way the wind howled around Winterfell. She’d missed Theon in more ways than one and it was clear that she wasn’t alone in that, at least. 

They didn’t say much of anything as they ate. Not with words. They exchanged glances instead, little smiles, sometimes a not-so-accidental brush of their feet together under the table. It was like there was a spark trying to ignite inside herself again, one that she thought had died. Home was what she had needed. Home was what she had craved.

“We should catch up,” Theon whispered, finally, once their bowls were cleared, and Sansa agreed. They walked in a loop, around and around the halls of the Stark house, a familiar path. Verbally, they were in new territory and watching their step. A tightrope of a conversation. There were things Theon knew not to ask, and vice versa. 

“Tell me about the pretty things,” he requested, after another awkward silence. Sansa sighed, solemn, her eyes straight ahead. 

“Those are few and far between.” 

“But there’s always something pretty,” Theon replied. “You could always find beauty in something before.” She felt the numbness seeping back in without her permission, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of a single pretty thing. There were days where things were black and white and grey, and nothing more than that. 

“You go first, Greyjoy.” 

So he told her about the pretty things instead. Like the high noons of Winterfell, the warmest time of the day. How the sun rose beautifully in the middle of the sky and the temperature was perfect just for a moment. He told her about the new flea markets that popped up every Saturday and sold everything from keychains to spellbooks. And then when there was nothing pretty left to say about her birthplace, Theon tried to think of something about himself that could be pretty to her. 

“Things have stayed the same, for the most part,” Theon murmured. “I guess only physically, though. I don’t think I’ve stayed the same. But I’ve always missed you. That didn’t change.” 

“I think I’ve changed a lot,” she said, her voice quiet. “I had to, you know. But you’re right. There was something that didn’t change at all.” She reached for Theon’s hand, grateful he didn’t pull away, and then stiffened when she heard the front door burst open, quickly stepping away from Theon and craning her neck to peek around the corner to see who was there. And then, officially, she felt the call of home. For the first time in over a year, Sansa felt tears pricking at her eyes. 

“Robb!” Sansa nearly choked on the name, sprinting towards her older brother without another thought. He caught her effortlessly into a tight embrace, both of them holding onto each other for dear life. It had been too long since each of them had felt the presence of family, of blood family. They’d been spread out so thin, splitting at the seams. There was hardly a Stark family left. 

“Sansa,” Robb greeted her, a watery smile on his face. He wiped his tears and looked behind her, giving a stern nod to Theon. “Thank you for bringing her home today.” He grabbed Sansa by the arms and took a step back to admire her, a small and proud smile on his face. 

“Final verdict?” Sansa asked teasingly, sniffling. “Think I’ve gotten taller? Fatter?” 

Robb rolled his eyes and hugged her again, squeezing too tight. 

“Shut up.” 

When they pulled away again, Robb sighed tiredly, running a hand through his curls.

“I can’t stay for long. I need to get back to the office and work on a few things, but...there’s someone I want you to meet. A good friend and colleague.” He turned to look over his shoulder, motioning for someone to step forward. 

Sansa tensed as a dark-haired man came into view, shutting the front door behind him as he entered. It was a Northern thing, to mistrust immediately. It was now a Sansa thing to be cautious. 

“This is Jon. Jon Snow,” Robb introduced them. “Jon, this is Sansa. I don’t know how to thank you. We couldn’t have gotten her back without your help.” 

Sansa softened just a bit. Just a bit. So this was the man who had helped get her out of King’s Landing. 

A debt to be paid, a haunting voice rang in her head. Sansa shivered and moved around Robb to hold her hand out, shaking Jon’s when he met her halfway. 

“Thank you for helping,” she said firmly, shoulders squared. “I’m grateful.”

“Anything for Robb,” Jon assured her, his voice kind and soft, but also direct. He gave her a tiny half-smile, barely perceptible from under his beard, but Sansa found herself returning it. 

One way or another, because of him, she was home.


End file.
